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04-12-2011, 07:09 PM | #21 |
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He sits upon a cardboard throne
A king in a broken home His roof a bridge His fanfare the roaring of the trucks He used to lounge feet up With his buddies beside a jewel green forest Now his only jester is a bottle Wrapped in brown paper He begs for coins Lost in memories Sometimes someone buys him a meal He thanks them But he'd rather drink Numb the pain Make life bearable What life there is left
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04-12-2011, 08:00 PM | #22 |
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Am typewriter boy
In laptop world Reinking ribbons Staining my hands Speedtyping in midnight hours Smelling of sweat and correction fluid Drinking down inspiration Sitting with a single desklamp shining on keys Living in the shadows Cursing for forgetting to advance paper Going back with red pen and bitten pencil Making the edits Sit it in a box and let dust gather Before going back again for retype In the midnight hours Drinking down inspiration Eating my own words
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04-15-2011, 08:05 PM | #23 |
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Falling off the couch
From lack of sleep Staring at the carpet Far too close up Writing down halfbrain thoughts And realizing everything I own Inkstained Have I fallen down the rabbithole Or have I climbed out
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04-16-2011, 07:18 PM | #24 |
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Armor
Straight jacket comfort Conceal and protect Shifting with movement Barely breathing Heat Warm fevered touch against skin Raw Sweat Hugging me too tight Safety Makes me less and more Pain Temporary Survival Armor Against ignorance
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04-16-2011, 09:01 PM | #25 |
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Dark shadows trace my walls
Childhood monsters big and small I watch them move from the floor I'm just too tired to fight them anymore The big bad wolf was never scary It was the good fairies They changed you made you sweet and mild Made you a beautiful oh so tasty child Sinister in their good intent Who goes to hell They can all get bent So I lay upon the floor And wonder if I can take childhood terror anymore I don't want to be Rose Red or Snow White Nor a prince instead they all lose their fights I'd rather be some poor unknown farm boy Who becomes the dread Pirate Roberts At least Wesley got to win Buttercup's delight
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04-18-2011, 06:23 PM | #26 |
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Tumble
Tumble Tumble Down Down Down Falling graceless to the ground Stand back up Salute the sun Smile my friend The day is done
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04-27-2011, 06:24 PM | #27 |
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Lick
Salt sting broken flesh Copper pennies on my tongue Purr in contentment Calm and centered Little aches let me know I am alive I am bound by invisible chains I am a tiger with new stripes
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04-27-2011, 06:42 PM | #28 |
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I want to lick the salt off your skin
as if you were some delicious lollypop or a dripping ice cream cone on a hot summer day you refresh me my dream lover I don't even know your name your femininity is intoxicating you are so at ease in your own skin you make me smile you give me what I need the passions I try to resist until they boil up I delight in your phantom touches that leave me waking in desperate need of a shower and a fuck I head to the shower can't have everything we want all the time then I compose luststruck memories to read later when the dreams run cold in my nights you give me all I could ask and more
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05-06-2011, 07:42 PM | #29 |
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Never before
Have I felt So calm at peace within myself I know not how Except your words Have made me know what I would Opinions are just that People's words mean only what we make them All they are mosquitoes Buzzing in our ears And with proper care their bite will irritate not sicken I am tired of being sickened by pests thanks m.n. and p
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05-10-2011, 06:43 PM | #30 |
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Street lamp silhouettes shadow the sidewalk
Traced with chalk by childlike hearts Laughing in madness brought by releasing pent up innocence Embracing the little child who hides inside Play with chalk Hopscotch and jump rope Tell a teddy bear your dreams Sniffle at the monsters under the bed in the closet A scary place to be Be brave with a broken stick sword And broomstick steed You are a knight in tinfoil armor Stronger then any forged steel by your belief We should all still play make believe
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05-14-2011, 08:43 AM | #31 |
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I carress you
My fingertips tracing your curves Loving the sounds you make for me I smile and inhale Heady with your scent You work so hard to help me I stroke you Calling out the best of us both I praise you Until it is late in the night and we are both exhausted I curse you When you run dry of essense at awkward moments I worship you My midnight mistress I fear for the day you fail me For how will I be a typewriter boy without you You are my beauty My battered ancient goddess of print My Typewriter Lover
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05-15-2011, 01:10 PM | #32 |
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Smelling of stale cigarettes and despair
Whiskey label somehow permanently adhered into front Scribbles in margins Stains of ink and graphite smudges Humorless remarks Not a study copy but a work of desperate madness Blood on the edges from paper cuts Can almost hear the hiss of a curse as the pages flip Discard it discard it discard it Yet still it circulates Like a battered 1938 penny Worn by time and rubbed smooth by nervous fingers Read it lost as much in margin additions as original text Is this what madness looks like Or is this what inspiration becomes
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05-15-2011, 04:47 PM | #33 |
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Fingertips stained with ink from broken ballpoint pen
A mess of blue black on the desk I want to paint swirls on the decades old calendar But no that's childish I am childish So I scrawl spirals until the ink dries I scrub at my hands until only ghosts of ink remain Like some cleaned up Celtic warrior Is it so wrong I want to drag the ink across my skin Painting the designs of the gods of battle To go off and face grocery store fascists And green market madmen I close my eyes and simply breathe
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05-15-2011, 07:17 PM | #34 |
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My tongue flicks out
Salty sweat clinging to my upper lip Fear and shame in the drops I push the door open It is 90 degrees out And I wear combat boots For am I not going to war Jeans splattered with mud and flecks of rusty blood Torn out at the knees from rough asphalt Heavy leather studded belt A backup defense And layers Layers to hide that I am not what I seem Layers to be armor Body armor misery On top is heavy hooded sweatshirt Everyone knows my secret The teachers scream it everyday Except for a few that see the desperation in my eyes And say my last name instead That's safe enough But after school and in halls I am freak Faggot Flaming Fairy Queer Those who yell it most I see it in their eyes Disgust...at themselves Because they like what they see So I take it Don't go to the locker when anyone is about Don't want locker door bruises From heads bashed into door so fast Broke two pairs of glasses last year Finish the day walk out They wait till I am off the grounds and halfway home Lay in wait to beat me up After a while I give as good as I get No one will ever admit they are beat up by a girl I wish they'd say I was who broke their nose Least then they'd accept I am not a girl Go home bruised and bloody Nurse the hurts Grin around the pain Mom says we can find another school Dad doesn't even know too lost in his own pain I just shake my head A day at a time armored and ready to go Because at least in this school I know who to punch And who to simply smile at Because I am a teenage freak who is happy no longer being meek -A memory of teenage angst
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05-16-2011, 06:30 PM | #35 |
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Am I mad
Is this hell that I reside A horrible torturous suffering Meant for some past life self Am I dieing We are all dieing some faster then others Most days I feel as if I am dieing by inches Am I screaming I can't hear myself but I know I should be Yet no sound ever ever escapes Am I drowning In life in death in hell If I am do I go to heaven Does the hurt ever stop?
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05-17-2011, 05:55 PM | #36 |
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There is a mad symmetry
In the way the words fall across the page As the click,click,click of keys rings in silence But for the melting of the ice in the glass on desktop And the sound of the cat's soft snores on the bookshelf Occasionally mosquito buzz near half deaf ears Advance the page a steady rhythm builds Tap, tap, tap Finish page Scratching pen correcting typos toofast forgot the spaec Dyslexic mind doesn't catch all the misspells Will find them later when brain less fuzzy click, click, click nother page beneath the keys scratch scratch scratch like the leaves in the breeze
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06-09-2011, 10:42 AM | #37 |
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Hot sweaty therapy
We have fucking Therapy Urge to be seen as who we are You on my cock Happy fagboi Seen as beautiful handsome boy Willing to bottom for me Therapy session on the floor You call me handsome hot hard hunk You've had surgery I have not But you don't treat me like a freak You bite and scratch We walk away bruised and at peace Therapy hookup I've got your number until next year
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06-09-2011, 03:52 PM | #38 |
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You are a warrior
Painted up old school in blue whirls to a god you do not name You smile as I pull off your shirt I trace my fingers over your sweat slicked skin Worshiping a god I do not name I smile as I lick the scar roughened skin You look at me eyes gone passion dark There is a heat rising from us We are transforming In each others eyes we are warriors
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06-09-2011, 04:12 PM | #39 |
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You fell asleep
Your stamina impressive but still even angels must sleep And you lay a beautiful renaissance sculpture Tangled in the sheets Your lashes dark upon your cheeks Your skin is still flushed from passion I simply sit drinking whisky and watching you Tracing the lines of your body You are a delight But I covet your body in only a semisexual way No I admire the way you have worked Like a sculptor to get the form And I wonder if I shall ever be that beautiful Or if I am simply a convenience
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06-09-2011, 05:10 PM | #40 |
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I curse you Sal Paradise
For being the man I am not I am a wanderer of words But not roads Though often I have dreamed Of simply walking away And making a go of being a mad backpack madman making my way to Mexico City I want to meet my Dean And live dancing in glorious insanity with him Instead of trailing along behind Simply digging his wild beat songs Or perhaps I curse you Ray Smith For the beauty you find in the calmness of madness Of your night on the beach and your bed under the roses I want a Japhy with wild Oregon happiness And learn to fly down mountains after climbing up them on my knees I wish to sit calmly watching for fire and dreaming of old men who are seeking enlightenment If only I had been born 50 years earlier Perhaps then I could been a mad cat without seeming insane
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